Lords of Misrule
by Shadow over Egypt
Summary: Ancient spirits, lack of any skills in written or spoken Japanese, magic and the Kaibas did NOT usually bode well for a peaceful winter. Mokuba loved it. #for Salky; YYSK; Prideshipping#
1. I

**Shadow: **A two-or-three-shot for Salky. Have a merry Christmas, and I hope life starts looking up for you soon.

_**Notes: **_Shonen-ai, boy x boy, prideshipping, Yami x Kaiba. If you don't like, don't read it. I use – exceedingly bad, rather loosely translated ancient Egyptian in this, so if you, by any chance, happen to be a native speaker of ancient Egyptian, please don't call me out on it? I admit it's terrible, but the point of the fic isn't perfect skills in that language. It's _meant _to be unintelligible to the majority of us.

* * *

**Lords of Misrule**

Kaiba snuck in through the front doors of home, snow clinging to his black boots, leaving damp patches in his wake behind him. The December wind, and his lack of a coat, had him shivering, even though it had only been about five metres or so from his car to the front door.

"_Onii-sama!" _It was a cheerful call that echoed from the second landing down to the mansion foyer, a black-haired bundle of energy taking the grand stairs down two steps at a time in his enthusiasm to rush and fling his arms around his brother's waist –

Only for Mokuba to stop short, arms still comically outstretched, grey-blue eyes staring with some confusion at the figure clutched in Seto's arms.

"Nii-sama?" Mokuba couldn't help but look up at the slightly cornered expression that now adorned his brother's face, bewildered by this strange affair. "Why have you brought Yugi home? I thought he was flying to America to visit Anzu for Christmas?" Another glance to the spiky-haired youth held by Kaiba, the teen's form covered by the CEO's traditional white trenchcoat. "Why's he wearing your coat?"

Kaiba didn't reply, seemingly thinking of some way to answer his sibling's questions.

Mokuba continued on, heedless of the other's silence, having noted the distinctly _bare _looking arm that remained uncovered by white cloth. "Is he _naked _under there?"

At that, a dusting of faint pink touched the very tips of Kaiba's cheekbones, the forward question kick-starting the brunet's usual glib tongue, prompting long legs into movement towards the main lounge in the Kaiba manor. "Mokuba, quiet down for a few moments."

Mokuba ignored the plea, gleefully noticing his brother's response to his earlier query and relishing the further darkening of Seto's skin when he asked with some degree of relish: "He _is, _isn't he?" The pre-teen was practically bouncing as he followed his elder. "What happened – did you catch him changing or something and feel the urge to commit kidnap?"

"_Mokuba -"_

"I think kidnapping's against the law, you know, but if you do your scary-eyes-glower-thing at the jury you could probably get off merely by shit-scaring those putting you on trial out of court -"

"Mokuba."

"But if push comes to shove I really think we could get you the insanity plea -"

"Mokuba!"

Mokuba – finally – shut his mouth, standing by silently as his brother lay their new houseguest down on the longest couch in the lounge.

Kaiba took great pains to ensure his visitor's modesty was preserved, multicoloured hair fanning around the sleeping youth's face on a cushion the brunet tucked beneath the other's head. Long, dark lashes lay shut throughout the process, only the gentle rise and fall of the teen's chest marking him as still being in the living world.

Then, and only then, did Kaiba turn around to face his brother. "Mokuba…"

The black-haired boy ignored the CEO, sharp grey eyes studying the face of the one lying before them. The features so familiar, and yet different in a thousand and one tiny ways that spelled a new truth. "…That's not Yugi."

Kaiba nodded, once.

"Yugi's family?"

"Of a sort."

"Then…the Spirit…?"

Another nod.

"How?"

And then it came out. Haltingly, as though Kaiba didn't believe it himself (and he didn't, not fully), Kaiba recounted of how, under duress from his little brother, he had picked Mouto Yugi up from his home, the Kame Game Shop, alongside the babbling dog Jounouchi, and driven the two to the airport – one to catch a flight to the United States to stay with his girlfriend over the holiday season, the other to say goodbye to said person catching said flight. How the two idiots had chattered _endlessly _and Kaiba had stood (im)patiently by, waiting until the midget's flight was called and he could drive the baka inu home before heading home himself. And then, the flight being called, and more goobye-ing and hugging and all-around sappiness as Kaiba's eye twitched, the brunet turning around to be spared the sight of the sickeningly sweet mush and – horror of all horrors – being taken by surprise and stumbling over _Mouto Yugi's bag –_

It was all Yugi's fault. _Everything _– somehow – was Yugi's fault, the midget the root cause of all Kaiba's current problems.

It would have been fine if Kaiba had simply fallen, really it would've been. His ego would've taken quite a battering and he would've been utterly ferocious for the rest of the day, scathing and ill-tempered, but it would have been fine, because he could've gotten over that. Really.

…Kaiba _didn't _'simply fall'. Instead, Mouto Yugi – Mouto _bloody _Yugi – saw him stumble and decided in that split-second to do his 'good deed' of the day and try to catch him, stepping into the brunet's trajectory and being smacked into, hands flailing and Kaiba feeling the thick chain around the other's neck touch his arm before his hand smacked into something cold and metal and –

There had been a flash of blinding light sometime about when Kaiba had hit the floor. There had been a flash of blinding light, a deep-seated, internal complaint of _'ow' _as Kaiba's side hit the floor, and a heavy weight of something in the brunet's arms that was so, so, _so _not-Yugi Kaiba idly wondered for a few milliseconds whether he'd hit his head as well on the way down.

And then Yugi, from some way away, also sprawled on the ground with eyes at goggle-size in sheer stupefaction. "Oh…oh…_oh."_

Jounouchi, from overhead: "Whoa…"

Kaiba Seto had been lying on the floor, in the middle of an exceedingly busy airport, clutching a very _naked _Spirit of the Millennium Puzzle to his chest.

To say they had attracted some attention…

"But how did you end up with him?" Mokuba asked, still curious.

More of the tale was told. How Kaiba had quickly divested himself of his trenchcoat and covered the comatose Spirit up, how he'd set his bodyguard on the gaping onlookers and dragged Yugi and Jounouchi off to a private room (made available to them by blatant bribery of the airport officials) to discuss just what the hell had happened. Only, when there, to be shortly reminded that Yugi needed to catch his flight, and that the midget had no idea what he was going to do with the Spirit – 'Yami', Yugi called him – whilst he was away. Yugi couldn't take him with him, Mouto-jii-chan was already in the States, visiting Professor Hawkins, Jounouchi didn't have the means, and everyone else –

Somehow, Kaiba had ended up with Yami in his care, a promise to be called as soon as Yugi reached America, and a Jounouchi who would not _just shut up _all the way home.

"Oh," said Mokuba once his brother had finished recounting the tale, now staring in fascination at the one fast asleep on the couch, "wow."

* * *

Yami slept on the couch for two days straight without waking. Mokuba worried endlessly about it, Kaiba preoccupied with having a rather heated discussion down the phone line with the Spirit's poor Other Half. Hanging up in sheer disgust at Yugi's inability to provide any conclusive answers Kaiba did his best to stop his little brother from outright panicking, promising they'd call in the doctor should Yami not wake after three days, all the time avoiding such terms as 'magic' and 'Egypt' like the plague.

They'd switched Yami's covering from a trenchcoat to two blankets, Kaiba putting a pair of pyjamas on the Spirit at the same time. Yami had remained like a malleable doll throughout the entire ordeal, but it had still been deeply embarrassing for Kaiba. The brunet could've ordered a servant do the duty instead, but even the very _idea _of that had felt…_worse _somehow, violating the other's privacy far more than was necessary.

Then, late at night on the second day, long after Mokuba had disappeared to bed and Kaiba sat on a couch opposite his houseguest, typing away on his laptop, Yami woke up.

Kaiba wasn't sure what had alerted him to the other's consciousness first, only becoming aware sometime of a low, vague prickling at the forefront of his mind that caused him to look up from his work, blue eyes caught by the shifting of blankets in the lamplight in front of him. Shifting blankets, a stirring form, long and languorous, stiff muscles uncoiling as a tousled head lifted itself from the cushions, a hand with skin just a shade darker than Yugi's pushing golden bangs away from slowly opening eyes as the other sat up.

Kaiba found himself staring at those drowsy eyes, crimson orbs lit with low embers, catching the light of the room's lamp and drowning it in seas of soft cerise.

Yami, already a little more awake, sitting properly upright now with the blankets pooled around his waist, stared back at him, clearly astonished.

Words rose between them, questions, answers, thoughts, and then fluttered away. They continued to stare.

Yami finally opened his mouth, no doubt to ask where he was, what he was doing there but –

"_Taw? Kaiba, maa? Pen da'at net'ten?"_

The spell broke, but Kaiba was still staring, now in confusion. "…I didn't understand a word of what you just said."

Yami looked just as bewildered as he did.

* * *

Mokuba was elated when he came downstairs the following morning to find Yami awake and breakfasting at the kitchen table, but was completely nonplussed as to the reason behind his brother and his guest's sour expressions.

"What's wrong?" Mokuba asked Seto, as the brunet drank his usual dosage of black coffee.

Kaiba broodingly went back to reading the business section of the newspaper, only nodding a vague head in the direction of their visitor. "Ask him."

Mokuba obligingly went to do so, taking a seat beside the Spirit and trying to restrain his amusement that, although the teen (physically) had to be at least five years older than him, Yami was wearing a set of his clothes. They were a tight fit but they fitted him all the same, giving the youth room to move as he morosely poked at some toast on the plate before him.

"Yami?" Crimson eyes looked up at him, Mokuba admiring their strange shade for a moment before pressing on with his query. "Is anything troubling you?"

Yami only shook his head helplessly.

Mokuba frowned. "Yami?"

"_Mokuba…khenmas…ia, neb dew." _The words were exotic, oddly guttural in some places before slinking away softly elsewhere. They were also incomprehensible to Mokuba.

Confusion. "What?"

Yami put his head in his hands, and went back to poking at his toast, looking even more downtrodden than before.

Kaiba looked up from his newspaper, his own face decidedly grim. "Mokuba, he can't speak a word of Japanese."

The boy was stunned, glancing between his brother and Yami. "None at all?"

"None at all," Seto affirmed. "I tried going through some vocabulary with him last night when he first woke, but between a mixture of his sulking and confusion, and our general mix of frustration and general incomprehension we got nowhere."

"That's…not good."

"You're telling me? He spent a good five minutes ranting something at me when I first offered him some of your clothes to try on this morning whilst I ordered him some new, and I have absolutely no idea what the general point of it all was." Kaiba set a brief scowl Yami's way, which the other could not have _not _seen, and yet ignored all the same. "He's giving me a migraine."

Mokuba went back to looking at Yami, trying to imagine what the poor Spirit was feeling. The youth had always been proud, charismatic and eloquent; it shone through in all his duels, in his sharpness and in his wit. To take words away from such a person…it didn't seem fair somehow, and yet it had happened. If Yami spoke, no-one could understand him, the once-king stripped of all his naturally beautiful articulation, slanting eyes narrowed and face set firmly in a sulky pout.

The boy turned back to his brother. "When does Yugi get home?"

"January the tenth." It was December the nineteenth.

That was…twenty-two days. Twenty-two days with a guest who they couldn't understand, who couldn't understand them. This was…well, it was going to be _interesting, _if nothing else…

* * *

December the twenty-first, and Yami had been with them for two days. The clothes Kaiba had ordered for the Spirit had arrived, Yami thanking the other with a quick smile when the brunet had showed him the pile on the bed of the room given to him. With obvious relief the youth had changed out of the strange fashions Mokuba favoured that he'd been forced to wear, sliding on the black jeans and jumper Kaiba had chosen for him and looking a lot more at ease as he padded around the Kaiba mansion.

Yami tried to avoid conversation, if he could, frustration coming to him too easily when he couldn't express his meaning, shining in his eyes. He'd picked up the Japanese for 'yes', 'no', 'toilet' and 'food' easily enough, as well as very, _very _basic phrases but…everything else was currently quite beyond him, especially as his avoidance of others cut him off from any potential vocabulary he might be able to pick up.

From somewhere he'd dug up a notebook, wandering along the corridors with it doodling as he went, having nothing better to do. (He couldn't understand what was on television, and all the books were in modern languages. Mokuba would willingly sit and play video-games with him all day, but it was hard to explain the rules and even harder to try and follow the Japanese on-screen instruction and so Yami kept losing, miserably, his ego taking a terrific beating.) It was with that notebook he wandered into the lounge where Kaiba was sitting, still typing at his laptop, the brunet having taken the holiday period off at his brother's (never-ending) insistence, sitting in a place where he could be easily found by said brother should Mokuba want him.

The brunet was hogging the couch with the best light from the windows. Yami, preoccupied with his doodling, tried sitting on the arm of the couch for a time, but discovered the position uncomfortable. Abstractedly, he tossed a partial command the other way, wanting to shift onto the main cushions.

"_Kaiba, sa'as khesi-taw."_

The brunet ignored him.

"_Kaiba?" _Yami looked up from his book, catching the blue gaze that flickered his way. Accented or not, Kaiba still recognised his name. "_Sa'as." _Yami made a flicking motion with his hands, a clear gesture for the other to move along a little bit and give him room.

Kaiba, being deliberately awkward, smirked, seeing the potential to rile the insufferable other. "Sorry, what was that?"

Yami scowled at the sight of the smirk, repeating the flicking motion, now with both hands. _"Sa'as." _His tone was a lot firmer, more of an outright command.

"Still don't understand you…"

"_Kaiba!" _Yami's temper was so easy to provoke lately, and Kaiba delighted in his small revenge, petty as it was.

"Still no…"

Yami, mouth set in a straight, grim line, pointed very firmly at Kaiba, and then very deliberately at the cushion at the opposite end of the couch, where the CEO's feet were resting. _'Move', _said the action, very plainly.

Kaiba's eyes gleamed, smug when his companion's eyes began to glitter with unholy murder. He took quiet pride in his ability to vex anyone, and to be able to wind up the usually unshakeable Spirit of the Puzzle… "Try again…?"

Yami let out what sounded like a muffled scream, flinging his notebook at Kaiba's head and stalking from the room. He made sure to slam the door on the way out.


	2. II

**Shadow:** Part two, vaguely belated. (-snorts- 'Vaguely', she says, whilst affecting a winning smile.) Watch me attempt not to twitch as my elder brother slaughters masses of pixellated people at full volume in _Fable II_'s Tattered Spire less than a metre away from me, all at the ungodly hour of two o' clock in the morning. Sibling bonding, huh?

**_Notes:_** Same as last chapter.

* * *

**Lords of Misrule**

Yami didn't quite understand why Mokuba's room was full of brightly-coloured paper when he went to see the boy on the morning of the twenty-third of December, knocking on Mokuba's door and stepping into a world decorated with rolls and rolls of shimmering fluorescence and cheerily chortling paper snowmen.

_"Mokuba…?"_ A little of the spirit's strange accent had faded away over the four days of his corporeal existence, but his syllables were still oddly emphasised. It was…_charming,_ and it made Mokuba smile when he poked his head up over the mound of gifts he was attempting to wrap, signalling to Yami his position in the overcrowded room.

"Over here!" Mokuba waved one-handed from where he was kneeling on the floor, his other hand holding flat a piece of paper on one of his part-wrapped presents.

Yami went over to him, hovering on his feet as he attempted to overlook the younger boy's work. "You…" he struggled for a moment to recall the appropriate word, "busy, yes?"

"Yes," Mokuba agreed, but with a smile and an outstretched hand to pull the other down to kneel amidst the chaos with him. "I'm wrapping Christmas gifts. Would you like to help me?"

Yami looked at him, confused by the quick delivery of speech, and the jumbled terms he wasn't used to in the everyday speech he'd overheard already in the manor.

"Would you," Mokuba repeated a little more slowly, pointing to the once-spirit, "like to help me?" He gestured to the mess around, and then himself, with a hopeful expression.

Yami caught on and nodded, already motioning for the boy to show him exactly what it is he wanted him to do. _"Sa'as, khenmas_." Mokuba's turn to look blank, and Yami's turn to make sweeping gestures to the mess of paper and tape around them, miming what he thought Mokuba wanted him to do.

"Oh!" Mokuba looked pleased at the other's acquiescence, releasing his hold on the wrapping paper and diving upon the Spirit, ribbons and sticky-backed decorations taking to the air as Yami was literally bowled over by the younger boy's enthusiasm.

A sardonic voice from the doorway cut in over Mokuba's glee, and Yami's rather undignified flailing. "…You know you both look like a set of deranged mimes let loose in a greetings card store, don't you?"

"Seto-nii!" Mokuba _popped_ up from having tackled Yami, beaming at the languid form of his brother leaning against the bedroom's doorpost. "How long have you been there?"

Lazily, blue eyes scanned the chaos that was Kaiba Mokuba's personal domain, lighting rather amusedly on the flustered Spirit still half-sprawled out amidst the sparkling wrappings. "Long enough to see your dazzling display of intellectual communicative skills."

Yami understood practically none of what Kaiba had just said, but the brunet's tone had been enough. Still a little pink from Mokuba's overeager assault he pushed himself up into a kneeling position, frowning at the youth in the doorway. _"Kaiba…"_

The CEO only snorted at his rival's sparse words, the mild rebuke for too small to have any effect on Kaiba's ego. He nodded to his brother, ignoring the narrowed scarlet gaze fixed his way. "I'll leave you to your wrapping, Mokuba. Make sure you clean up after yourself when you're done."

"Will do!" The response was all but chirped out, Yami eyeing the youngest Kaiba sibling with vague worry (what had the boy _eaten_ for breakfast?) as Seto snorted once more, turning on his heel and meandering off.

* * *

Yami found his conversations with Mokuba to be interesting ones, dialogue consisting both of speech and gestures - some over-excessive to the point of ridicule as the black-haired boy tried to communicate his complicated, far-flung ideas to the vocabulary-deficient ex-pharaoh. There was, naturally, a lot of hand-waving involved, exaggerated facial expressions and drawn-out vowels as both attempted to overcome the seemingly insurmountable language barrier, the younger of the two often descending into peals of laughter at the various absurd sounds and motions his companion came up with, Yami often returning the favour and chuckling at Mokuba's light-hearted antics.

Yami had picked up the controllers to Mokuba's gaming consoles once more, communication with the prepubescent easing his slide back into technological gaming as Yami once more began to pick up the rules with his usual style of alarming ease. Yami still lost to Mokuba more times than he won, but the scores were a lot more even, Yami beginning to take pleasure in the activity instead of his previous frustration.

And so – the evening of the twenty-third. Presents neatly wrapped and labelled Mokuba and Yami had tidied up the mess in the boy's room, the two separating for a few hours to do their separate things (Mokuba to read, and Yami to draw in his notebook), regrouping to eat in the kitchen before resuming their home in Mokuba's room, hauling out whatever console had been nearest to hand and playing video games for pushing six hours straight. At one point Mokuba fetched pizza to sustain them, at another cans of fizzy pop, but still they kept gaming until eventually Yami rose to his feet, muttering something about needing the toilet. Mokuba obligingly paused the game and flopped on his back, sucking idly on the lollipop he'd started on a few minutes previously as he waited for the other to return.

The pre-teen must've dropped off to sleep at one point, because he suddenly came around to the sound of distant shouting, his neck a little stiff from lying in an awkward position for too long. The game was still paused, and Yami wasn't in the room, so that meant –

Sloping out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes, Mokuba could hear the shouting better. Two familiar voices, both clearly furious, one blazing away in sharp Japanese whilst the other adopted a queer, fired-up mixture of the same tongue and what _had_ to be Ancient Egyptian. Seto…and Yami. Wow. Mokuba was quite impressed that they'd managed to go two whole days without a row.

The yelling (still escalating in volume) was coming from Seto's study. Trotting his way along there Mokuba reached the room right about the point the climax of the argument was reached, the boy stepping back just in time to avoid getting stomped on as an irate Yami all but _flounced _past him, unseeing, clearly put out.

Mokuba waited for the echoes of a door-slam to sound in the mansion before cheerfully sticking his head around the doorpost of his brother's study, pointedly checking his watch when Seto looked up at him and removing the lollipop from his mouth with a quiet _pop._ "I can't believe you just had a half-hour argument with someone who doesn't speak a word of Japanese."

"He speaks enough," was the snappy retort, Kaiba's hackles still up even though the one who'd raised them was then absent. "The wider his vocabulary grows the more irritating he gets."

"What were you arguing about?" A curious question.

"I…" Kaiba opened his mouth, brain obviously working hard behind his expression, and then closed it, adopting a vaguely embarrassed air. "I don't recall." He quickly brushed over the comment. "It doesn't matter – Yami should learn when to keep his opinions to himself."

"Like you do?" Mokuba couldn't help but voice the cheeky query, grinning as his brother levelled a flat, unimpressed _look_ his way. "Well…I like that he's here." The boy added, as an afterthought. "He's interesting."

"As long as you're _interested,_ it's all fine then." There was more than just a dash of sarcasm in Kaiba's words, but the underlying sentiment was still a fond one – not that the brunet could ever be compelled to vocally admit it.

Mokuba came forward to the desk where his brother sat, beaming when Seto reached out to absently ruffle his hair. "…I wonder how the magic did it…" Neither of them really needed to specify what 'it' was.

An automatic dismissal from Kaiba, "It's not magic."

"Nii-san, how else do you explain what you saw? You said yourself he appeared from nowhere when you hit the Millennium Puzzle."

"Just because we cannot immediately explain the exact nature and reasoning behind occurrences does not mean that those selfsame occurrences automatically become creations of _'magic'_." Seto sounded rather dangerously close to 'lecture-mode'. Mokuba – inwardly – sighed. Sometimes there were drawbacks to having a super-genius for an older brother. "The world itself is built on natural laws that we, as yet, cannot fully grasp the full meaning of, and yet find ourselves subject to all the same. Science and the human rational will find an explanation for all things eventually…it's just a question of waiting for the time for technology to catch up and give us the answers."

Mokuba was smart enough himself, seizing on the thread of a handle his brother had left available for him to grab hold of in his argument. "What if magic is one of those undisclosed laws that you were talking about?"

"If such a thing as 'magic' existed, we would be able to scientifically measure it."

Mokuba frowned. "Some things are impossible to scientifically measure, nii-sama; we just have to accept that they're there. They're…_relative."_ He'd had to search for the word. "Like temperature, and time."

"It's just a question of time," Kaiba rather stubbornly repeated. "We'll have all the answers eventually, and things will be undeniable then."

"I hope I'm not around then," Mokuba said, a little quietly.

His brother looked at him. "Oh?"

Mokuba nodded. "There'd be nothing to wonder about anymore."

* * *

Jounouchi came over to the Kaiba mansion on Christmas Eve, cheerily skipping past the security with Mokuba's permission and all-but bouncing up to the front door.

Kaiba opened it, and saw the blond.

Kaiba promptly attempted to shut the door in said blond's face.

_"Nii-sama!"_ Mokuba, looking forward to seeing his friend, had bounded down to the entrance foyer just in time to see his brother's actions, chidingly pushing the world-weary Seto aside so he could fling the door open wide, leaping brightly into Jounouchi's arms. "Jou!"

"Forgive me, Mokuba…" The words escaped Seto as a sigh, the brunet addressing no-one in particular as he spoke to the air, Mokuba too busy babbling greetings to their guest. "I was trying to keep the pets outside."

Yami heard, smothering his smile with one hand as he trailed down the stairs to the foyer, a little taken aback by the person at the door. "Jounouchi?"

"Yami!" The spirit could only stand shock-still when his friend suddenly ran at him (having deposited Mokuba) and tackled him with a hug, squished by Jounouchi's overwhelming enthusiasm. "How are you, man?"

"I…" Yami recognised the question, Mokuba having used it often, "good, Jounouchi. Thank you. What…" He trailed off, surprise losing the question he'd had at the tip of his tongue.

"What are you doing here?" Kaiba asked it in Yami's stead – and because _he_ wanted to know as well, irritated at Jounouchi's presence in his relatively peaceful home.

"It's Christmas Eve!" As if that explained everything. "Christmas Eve should be spent with family!"

Dryly, Kaiba raked his gaze over the blond, who was still currently attempting to crush his ancient houseguest to death. "You're not related to any of us." (A nigh-audible 'thank _god'_ underlay the statement.)

"Friends are th' family you choose for y'self!" One hand pointed jubilantly in the CEO's direction, as if daring Kaiba to disagree, Yami taking the opportunity to escape Jounouchi's fervent stranglehold and gasp for breath against the nearest wall.

Kaiba couldn't help but nitpick, glaring at the presumptuous blond. "You're not my friend."

Mokuba, naturally, overheard the latter comment. _"Seto!"_

…And so progressed most of the rest of the day. Jounouchi, Mokuba and Yami camped themselves out in front of the television and their videogames, grabbing whatever was to hand from the fridge when they grew hungry. Kaiba, begged by his brother, came down in the early evening, sitting reading rather aloofly by himself in the corner of the room as the others whooped and cheered – or at least, as Mokuba and the mutt whooped and cheered.

Yami, still, was a much more demure presence, joining in with the conversations as best as he good, occasionally passing comment on some atrocious moves pulled by his friend and Mokuba and other times just…just _watching_ the two gamers, smiling contentedly to himself, seemingly completely unaware of the brunet who'd looked up from his book to watch him, silently, in turn.

The time came for Jounouchi to leave. Kaiba vanished back upstairs to his study and his work, and Mokuba and Yami accompanied Jounouchi to the door to see him out. The blond was loud to the last, ruffling Mokuba's hair and giving Yami a hug before disappearing off into the winter night. The door shut behind him, the mansion suddenly seemed a much quieter place.

"Christmas Eve…" hesitantly, Yami voiced the question that had been bothering him for most of the day, drawing Mokuba's questioning gaze to him, "is for family?"

Mokuba wondered where the query was going. "…Usually, yeah." He nodded, so his meaning was clear.

"I…" Yami drew to a halt, resting one hand against the nearest wall, looking…_what?_ Mokuba couldn't quite place the Spirit's expression, his own confusion deepening. "This is Mokuba's and Seto's time." His use of the possessive pronouns was still a bit shaky, so Yami favoured basic nouns – peoples' names -, however childish they made his speech sound, they were used correctly. "I intrude?"

The lilt in the other's words saddened Mokuba, lending the air of a question to Yami's statement. The boy wasn't sure whether the ex-pharaoh had intended the entire sentence to be a query or whether he was just querying the strange verb –

"I am sorry." Yami…looked _guilty_. That was guilt.

Mokuba, on impulse, moved forward to snatch up the Spirit's hands, unable to bear the remorse in the elder male's expression. "Don't say sorry." His words were simple for the other to understand - he'd become accustomed to speaking that way. "It's good to have you here. I like you here."

"Mokuba -"

The pre-teen quickly leapt in, overriding what he felt sure was going to be an argument against his declaration – really, Yami and his brother were way too similar sometimes. "Besides, Christmas Eve is technically for lovers in Japan, anyway. Couples. People in a romantic _relationship_."

"…'Romantic'?" Mokuba released Yami's hands to make the shape of a heart with his fingers. "Oh! …Kaiba and you-? Um – you…celebrate?"

…Had Yami just implied-? Mokuba blanched a little, determined to send his thoughts down that road, and quickly shook his head. Yami just hadn't been able to articulate himself very well; that was all. "Seto-nii and I don't have significant others, so…" he shrugged, smiling, "we don't really celebrate Christmas Eve."

"Oh," again, the rebuttal dampening the vague cheer that had been rising. Yami really hadn't meant what Mokuba had…originally thought.

Mokuba wrapped his arms around the other's waist, trying to convey comfort and warmth into the sudden depression. He looked up, deliberately bright, and smiled at the Spirit. "Christmas is for friends, and you're my friend."

Yami, translating the words, slowly smiled back at him.

* * *

It was a long-established fact, known to all and sundry, that Kaiba Seto was a workaholic. The CEO simply didn't _understand_ the meaning of the word 'break', on the go from the moment he rose from his (usually most reluctantly taken) rest to the time when he fell asleep (some days at his computer, from exhaustion). The youth worked quite efficiently on very little sleep – a few of his employees had been heard to remark that it would be downright _scary_ should their boss actually take regular rest; if the brunet could achieve so much with so little downtime, what could he achieve at his _full capacity_? (Said employees would usually get the 'jitters' at that point, down whatever caffeine was closest to them, and try not to shiver too much as they left their gossip to return to actual work.)

And so, late night/early morning depending on one's interpretation, two hours into Christmas Day, Kaiba Seto was in the kitchen in his mansion he usually frequented, in search of some coffee to aid him in his quest for insomnia for _another_ two hours.

He knew the room by heart, not bothering to switch on the light as he headed over to the cupboards where the instant was kept, too distracted to bother with the outrageously expensive percolator he'd bought not so long back, simply because he'd seen it in a store he was passing one day whilst bored, and bought it for the hell of it.

The light switched on in the hallway behind him. Kaiba didn't bother to turn around immediately, but his senses automatically sharpened, stretching out for anything new, anything different and –

That _smell._

Subversive, sweet and strange the smell touched Kaiba's senses, drawing the brunet's head around quite unconsciously to trace its source and the rest of the male's body with it –

Kaiba turned, and noticed Yami.

The other had clearly just come from the shower, draped in a long white bathrobe with his drying hair lying over his shoulders and padding into the dark kitchen almost silently with bare feet. His skin was still damp, gleaming in the lights from behind him with a smooth, natural glow, coloured still by the warmth of the heated water he'd no doubt just stepped from.

The intrusive, subversive scent came from him.

"You smell like a fruit bowl."

Yami nearly_ died_ (again, if his cock-and-bull Egyptian story had any truth in it) at the sound of Kaiba's voice in the night, stumbling back rather ungracefully a step or two out of reflex, slamming the kitchen lights on at the switch.

Kaiba hissed, raising a hand to cover his abused eyes from the sudden blinding change of lighting, only putting down the limb when his irises had adjusted. "Give some warning before you do that!"

"You – you…" Yami flailed, temper quickly overcoming his shock when he saw it was only Kaiba in the room, "you _lurk!_ You _surprised me!" _

"Well, _you_ should be in bed!" Thinking back on the conversation he was currently having later in the morning, Kaiba was forced to conclude it was the caffeine-deprivation that had made his arguments sound so pathetic. "Do you normally wander around other people's houses at two am wearing nothing but a bathrobe?!"

Yami ignored the latter question, unable to follow the fast-paced words._ "You_ should be at bed, too! Do you not sleep, Kaiba? You come here to surprise me instead?"

"I have _better_ things to do!"

"Yet you lurk?" It was a pointed question, Yami drawing his bathrobe tighter around himself as he glared at the taller other.

"I do not _lurk!"_ Kaiba was most offended at the very suggestion. "I can't _lurk_ in my own house!" Yami raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't! And – and it's not _my_ fault _you _smell like a fruit bowl!"

Yami looked confused at the last cry, his bewilderment showing clearly on his face. Although the sentence had been relatively simple Kaiba had spoken a little too quickly (and angrily) for the other to catch it, the statement startled from the CEO in his hissy fit not something originally intended to be come out.

Without thinking Kaiba pointed to the other, "You," he touched his nose, "smell," and then to the required bowl of fruit on the sideboard, "like a fruit bowl." And then he realised he'd just done exactly what he'd been calling his younger brother for earlier that day. "That is, I mean to say I -"

Yami was smiling, looking vaguely embarrassed. (Where had his anger gone?) He'd understood what the other had said. "Shower," the ex-pharaoh tried to explain. "The…bottles?"

"…The bottles in the shower?" Yami nodded. "You mean the shampoo and conditioner…?" Another nod, slightly more tentative. The Spirit clearly didn't know what they were called in Japanese, but must've been accustomed to using them when he'd shared Yugi's body –

Kaiba stopped his thoughts right. _There_. There was absolutely _no_ way he was giving any credence to the fairytale yarn Mouto's little band of lackeys was so fond of yapping on about.

The brunet turned back to the all-important task he'd originally came to the kitchen for – namely, making coffee. "Do you want some coffee?" He threw the question over his shoulder, Yami having padded a few steps closer during their weird hybrid of a discussion and row.

The shorter male looked at him blankly.

"_Coffee,"_ Kaiba repeated, a little exasperated.

Still, the blank look.

Kaiba picked up the jar the instant was in, and dropped it into his companion's hands. "Coffee." He took it back; unscrewing the lid and waving the container before the other's nose, letting the bitter smell touch the air. "Do you want some?"

Yami, realising he was being offered whatever was in the jar, slowly nodded again, taking a seat at the kitchen table when motioned to and watching as Kaiba brooded to himself, setting the kettle near him on to boil.

Although Yami's vocabulary was getting better, the Spirit was still a far-cry off perfect. (And that was without even _starting_ on the deplorable state Yami was in concerning the written word.) Conversation was still slow, and stilted and – oh, _why?_ Kaiba was a _genius_, damn it all – he and Yami were _both_ geniuses; surely they could come up with some means of communication that didn't involve copious amounts of hand-flailing and pointing?

Kettle boiled, Kaiba poured the hot water into two mugs, mixing in the powdered instant and carrying the two cups over to the table. He grabbed some milk from the fridge before he took a seat opposite his houseguest, pushing one mug and the milk towards the other.

Yami smiled at the sight of the milk – Kaiba supposed that was one type of food that couldn't have changed much since the Egyptian New Kingdom -, following Kaiba's mimed lead to pour a little of the white liquid into his cup. The coffee swirled with colour, lightening to a lighter brown, and Kaiba watched as the Spirit raised the mug to his lips for a drink –

And then Yami spluttered, Kaiba watching in sudden amusement as the bathrobe-clad male pulled one of the most _interesting_ faces he'd seen for a long while, grimacing, choking and apparently attempting to wipe his tongue all at the same time to rid himself of the bitter taste.

"Gah!"

Kaiba found himself with another mug of coffee dumped before him, Yami darting off to snatch a glass from one of the kitchen cupboards, filling the tumbler with milk and downing it quickly. That done, the ex-pharaoh resumed his seat, pouring himself some more milk and nursing his drink, looking utterly woebegone.

Kaiba hid a smile behind his newly-gifted mug of milk-sweetened caffeine. "Is that better?"

Yami scowled at him, hearing the mirth in the brunet's tone. The expression completely lacked all intimidation, however, Kaiba's mind still too fixated on his rival's rather humorous display of only a few minutes previously. Yami's hair, too, was still loose and drying about his shoulders, smoothing the sharp angles of the other's face out, making the Spirit look entirely too…_soft_ for the heated glower, especially when it was combined with the fluffy bathrobe. And as for the milk…

Yami was doing a most remarkable impression of a petulant kitten.

The Spirit must've seen something in Kaiba's face, for the infamous red eyes narrowed, sulky ire stirring once more with the jabs to its master's ego.

"Kaiba – you like milk?"

"I like it well-enough…" Kaiba still too amused to be properly on his guard.

"Good." Yami smiled sweetly, and then threw the lot – still ice-cold from the fridge – in his face.

Kaiba blinked.

The milk dripped.

Yami patted the other's head in a mockery of affection, and then wrinkled his nose when his hand came back, rather obviously, damp from the milk. "Sleep well." And then he was gone.

…

Kaiba dropped his mug of coffee, and then proceeded to yelp as the hot liquid hit his leg.

* * *

**Shadow_:_** (To the tune of _'I Saw Three Ships'.) And_ Kaiba got attacked by Yaaaamiiii, on Christmas Day, in the morning~. X3


	3. III

**Shadow: **Sometimes, even I overestimate myself. This thing was supposed to be a two/three-shot, but now looks a lot more like it's going to slide into about eight. *can't quite believe she was planning to cram so much originally into one chapter*

_**Notes: **_Same as last chapter, save for the addition of Bakura's rather dirty mouth. Mind his language?

* * *

**Lords of Misrule**

"This is yours."

Yami blinked a little blankly when Mokuba pushed what the ancient Spirit could only assume was a present into his arms, staring (somewhat perplexed) at the over-indulgence of tape, wrapping and ribbons that built up the decorative nightmare in his grasp. "What….?"

"Jounouchi-kun left it for you yesterday." Mokuba's smile was bright and beaming, sunnier than the rather grey weather outside. How much the boy's good mood was down to the mention of his elder friend and how much was a result of the large pile of gifts the black-haired whirlwind had torn through in the past half an hour was anyone's guess, Yami still a little dazed from having been woken up barely an hour previously by the child bouncing up and down, up and down in enthusiasm on his bed, forever excited by the joys of Christmas morning. (Yami still felt vaguely sea-sick.)

"Jounouchi?"

"The mutt," Kaiba confirmed, moving closer so he could flip over one of the numerous gift-tags bedecking his rival's gift, showing the confused Spirit the scrawled out kanji under the 'from' section. "'Shiro', 'kore', 'uchi'; 'inside this castle'," he tapped each of the signs in turn with one finger, "Jounouchi."

"And…that?" Yami motioned to the sole kanji further up the tag, under the 'to' area – not that he knew what the printed section was for.

"'Yami'," Kaiba easily read, knowing the symbol without even having to look where the other was pointing. "'Darkness.'"

Yami traced the lettering, his gaze intent as he seemingly tried to burn both names into his mind, before he glanced up – slightly shyly this time, though he would've died before admitting that to either of the males before him -, meeting the Kaibas' gazes. "This…" he raised the gift in his arms, "mine?"

"It has your name on it." Kaiba moved away again, sounding disinterested, already beginning to pick up some of the mess his brother had left behind.

At Mokuba's urging Yami quietly set about finding the present amidst the wrappings in his arms – Jounouchi's skills did not lie in the practical department. What the gift lacked in finesse it more than made up for in enthusiasm and effort, the absent blond clearly having _thought_ very deeply about presentation. After a good ten minutes of arguing with the sticky-tape the wrapping came undone, out tumbling a new deck holster and some dog-tags styled with hieroglyphics. The latter was swiftly pulled on over the black jumper Yami wore that morning, the former set carefully to the side as the Spirit set about trying to clear up his mess.

His hands were knocked away, however, another brightly-wrapped box dumped upon his lap by the overeager Mokuba.

"From me," the boy said simply, ever-bright. Like his brother before him, he was quick to point out the kanji on the gift-tag. "Mokuba – 'wooden horse'."

Yami looked awkward. "…But I did not -"

"Doesn't matter," his younger companion cut him off with an airy wave. "I don't give to get."

Kaiba paused in his work to watch Yami unwrap Mokuba's gift, the elder one oh-so-cautious as he carefully unpeeled the tape binding the wrapping together, Mokuba resuming his near-bouncing of before in anticipation.

Soft, rich red spilled out of the box when Yami finally got it open, pooling into the male's lap, long and liquid over the ex-pharaoh's legs. It was a scarf, very gentle, very fine, and Yami raised it to his face to bury his nose in the fabric, eyes closing in bliss at the wonderful softness of the material. After a few moments he looked back up again, to see both Kaibas regarding him with vague bemusement, Mokuba with a small, pleased smile.

"You like it?" The younger sibling shuffled a little closer, pushing aside wrapping paper in his eagerness.

"I love it." The simplicity of both the question and the reply gave Yami the opportunity to pour all his thankfulness, all his joy, into his words, obviously delighted with the gift.

Alongside the scarf was a new choker of high-quality leather, and alongside the choker was Kaiba's gift, simply-wrapped, presented by Mokuba as Kaiba himself had mysteriously vanished from the room.

The brunet had attached a tag to the present, but it was only Yami's name printed out neatly on the card, and nothing more. Somehow, that didn't surprise Yami in the slightest.

Kaiba, it was shortly revealed, had taken note of the notebook Yami had carried around everywhere with him during his early days in the mansion (though it wasn't as if Kaiba could have _not _taken note of it, especially since he'd had the precious item flung at his head), and bought a new, beautifully-bound writing set for the Spirit – an embossed note and sketchbook with all the stylised writing tools alongside.

How…unusually _swe-_

Yugi called the home just after nine that morning. Kaiba answered the phone first, speaking in rapid Japanese (far too quick for Yami to follow) for a good five minutes before brusquely dropping the receiver into his houseguest's grasp without another word.

Yami, unused to taking a call in his own body, tentatively mimicked the way he'd seen the brunet holding the piece, raising the receiver to his ear just in time to hear his lighter half's bubbly greeting.

"_Yami!"_

"Aibou?" Yami felt warmth spread through him at the sound of the other's voice, his heart lightening as the other chattered to him in as slow and most understandable way the effusive Yugi could, trying to convey his happiness at Yami's awakening, at all the pretty lights of New York, in simple Japanese.

Yami didn't comprehend half of what Yugi said to him. Regardless, he enjoyed listening to the youth's babble, joy spilling across the language barrier with Yugi's characteristic sparkling bounciness. Where Yugi was, so very far away, it was still Christmas Eve, not long after seven o' clock in the evening, the western part of the world still awaiting their Christmas dawn. Yugi was off out with Anzu to celebrate the night (and it was a date, the younger boy was pleased to conspiratorially confer, being conducted in the typical Japanese fashion), and so the conversation eventually had to come to end.

Yugi had promised him a gift from America as a belated Christmas present, said he was thinking of his other all the time as…it felt so _quiet _in his head, all of a sudden, and Yami had softly agreed - _"Love you, Yami."_

Back in Japan, Yami slowly smiled at the sentiment, expression softening in the way it only would for Yugi. "Love you, aibou." _'Daisuki, aibou.'_

Yugi hung up and Yami, ending the call, went to place the phone back in its cradle. He quite missed the startled blue eyes fixed upon him, Kaiba preoccupied with staring after the Spirit's form –

'_Daisuki, aibou.' _

'Daisuki'.

'I love you,' in Japanese, 'more than life itself, more than anyone else. You are my beloved, my number one.'

Yami had '_daisuki' _and not the simpler _'aishiteiru' – '_I love you'_. _

Yami had said _'daisuki'. _To Yugi.

* * *

Mokuba went to bed late that night, still somewhat hyper from all his presents, and from being on the phone for a good two hours chattering to some squeaky friend as they compared their gift stashes. When he went to bed he was as enthusiastic as he had been first thing in the morning, still running on a childish high nothing seemed to be able to dispel.

Yami, his head hurting from following the many conversations that had gone on that day about gifts, television and suchlike, was eager to follow the boy's example, longing for the soft bed in the rather spacious room Kaiba had given to him for his use.

He was stopped, however, by a hand on his arm, strong fingers wrapping around the limb and holding the Spirit back as he'd set his foot on the first step to the second floor of the mansion.

He glanced back. "Kaiba?"

"You're tired?" The brunet didn't bother to explain his actions, merely tugging once more on his companion's arm so Yami was drawn around, facing him. Even standing one step up from the CEO Yami still felt horribly short, Kaiba looking down at him – though hopefully less metaphorically, of late, and just literally.

"Yes," the short reply would've constituted as rudeness from anyone else, but Yami still didn't have the vocabulary to add elaboration, and he was too weary to ask for aid in spelling out his thoughts.

"Then I'll be brief." With his free hand, Kaiba reached into his pocket and withdrew a slim black, rectangular box, placing it in the other's palm. "This is yours."

"…Kaiba?" Yami looked confused, much like he had done that morning – and then he opened the box, perplexity only deepening as he saw what lay inside. A silver watch, fine-crafted and rather expensive-looking, lay on black velvet, glimmering in the lights overhead. He frowned at Kaiba. "This… You gave me a present. I can't -"

"I can afford to buy more than a notebook, Yami." Kaiba refused and took a step back when his companion tried to press the watch back on him. "Your time-keeping is dreadful – worse than Mokuba's -; you need the present. And…besides," a jab aimed straight for the gaps in the ex-pharaoh's knowledge, "don't you know it's rude to return a gift?"

Yami faltered, unsure of what exactly to do, and Kaiba took the opportunity to pluck the watch from its velvet bed, taking the other's left arm and clasping the item about the Spirit's slim wrist. It fit almost perfectly, a nice compliment against Yami's skin tone and dark clothing.

"Do you like it?" The question slipped out before Kaiba had the chance to check himself, the brunet suddenly burning to have the unreadable expression in Yami's eyes explained as he looked at the watch.

Yami looked up at him, eyes still smoky, vague. "Thank you." And then he turned, and went upstairs to bed.

He'd never quite answered Kaiba's question.

* * *

Yami liked his new watch. It was beautifully light, metal cool against his skin when he fastened around his wrist. It was pretty and practical – a wonderful gift with unusual thought laced in every link of the device.

Mokuba, ever-perceptive, ever-a-Kaiba Mokuba, noticed. And he, ever-amused by how Yami always seemed to be looking at the watch, shifting it on his wrist to catch the light, couldn't help but grin, propping his chin on the Spirit's shoulder.

"Did _Seto _give that to you?"

"Yes." Yami saw no point in hiding it from the boy – why would he, anyway? It was…just a Christmas gift. A very charming, completely unexpected Christmas gift. Given to him, in secret, in a somewhat strange manner.

"It's very pretty."

"Yes."

"He didn't tell me he was getting you a watch."

"He forgot, maybe?"

Mokuba grinned. "Seto-nii isn't the type to just _'forget' _things, Yami – is he now?" His tone was playful, his expression teasing as he watched the vaguely flustered look grow on his companion's face. "But more importantly," and here the black-haired boy took on the countenance of the devil-incarnate, "what do you think made him so _embarrassed_ about buying you the 'pretty' watch that he wouldn't tell his little brother about it?"

The implied meaning in the question flew – mostly – straight over Yami's head, meaning literally lost in translation. "Mokuba -"

"Mokuba?" Yami really had to wonder at Kaiba's timing sometimes, the brunet appearing as if from nowhere to stand in Mokuba's bedroom doorway – Yami and the boy had been playing videogames again.

"Kaiba!" Yami scrambled to his feet at the sight of the other, having looked for the CEO earlier that day, to no avail. Kaiba Seto could be an elusive man, and Yami had been forced to give up on his search and play games with Mokuba until the time came that said boy's older sibling decided to show his face to the world once more.

Kaiba watched, impassive, as the other approached him, waiting until Yami had come to a halt before raising one eyebrow, folding his arms and asking very pointedly: "You wanted something?"

"Yes -" apparently that was Yami's word of the hour, slipped in amongst his jumbled speech and he leaped, facing forwards, into his plea, "will you teach me, please?"

Surprise flickered across the smooth face, a streak of lightning, hastily quashed by marble clouds and years of refinement. A low query: "…Japanese?"

"…Writing. Reading." Yami didn't know how his request was going over – Kaiba looked no different than he had before Yami had posed the question. Mokuba watched, silently, from behind. "Trans…_lating?"_

Kaiba nodded vaguely to show the other he'd gotten the word right, thinking through the Spirit's proposal. It…could be difficult. From what Kaiba knew of the Ancient Egyptian language the pictorial writings of hieroglyphics and hieratic could be used both phonetically and symbolically, one picture used to convey a vast multitude of thoughts and ideas. The key to understanding a phrase could lie in a tiny nuance of interpretation, so easy to lose when trying to cross the language barrier. They'd be working with a dead language and a modern one, both dependent on interpretation when neither of them was proficient in the other's native tongue. But, it would be incredibly _useful –_

"Very well."

* * *

"Getsuyoubi, Kayoubi, Suiyoubi, _Midoriirobi, Kin-"_

"No," Kaiba cut the other off before he could continue.

Yami sighed, propping his chin up with one hand. "I am wrong again?"

"Yes…" the brunet pointed to the neat kanji on the page before the other, tapping the one for 'Thursday' – they were going over the days of the week. "It's 'Mokuyoubi', not 'Midoriirobi'. You basically just said 'Green-day.' Start again."

"Getsuyoubi, Kayoubi, Suiyoubi, _Mokuyoubi,_ Kinyoubi, Doyoubi, Nichiyoubi."

"And again."

"Kaiba -"

_"Again."_

"Getsuyoubi, Kayoubi, Suiyoubi, Mokuyoubi, Kinyoubi, Doyoubi, Nichiyoubi." Yami rattled the days off, a little put-out by the brunet's insistence. "Kaiba -"

"Third day of the week?"

"Kaiba-"

"Third day?"

"Suiyoubi, but -"

"Final day?"

"Nichiyoubi. Kaiba, I -"

"Fourth?"

"Mid –_ Mokuyoubi._ Kai-_ba-"_

"Second?"

_"Kaiba!" _Yami had grabbed his companion's shirt-front, sharply yanking the CEO from his little scholarly bubble of solemnity. "Shh!"

Coming from Yami 'shh' sounded more than a little ludicrous, but it was lack of vocabulary to be more derogatory that Kaiba quickly knew to be the reason for the word's usage, judging by the irritated gleam in crimson eyes (so much more obvious, close-up).

Kaiba raised his own hand, laying it over the one fisted in his shirt and trying to pry Yami's death-grip off of him. "What is it?" His tone was mild, belying his own annoyance at being grabbed in such a manner.

Yami's fingers only tightened in response, just to vex the CEO. "We are resting._ Now."_ He wanted a break.

Yami was…an incredibly _tactile_ person, and it surprised Kaiba. The Spirit was always touching things, gesturing, his responses physical ones. Was his behaviour born of his current lack of words, or had he always been so-?

"And what do you want to do on your 'rest'?"

Yami thought for a moment or two, expression distant, before focusing on the one before him again, challenge suddenly sparking in his eyes. "Duel?" The question was posed meekly, but the accompanying smile was so very arrogant, so very wicked, so very _Yami _(and Kaiba hadn't seen it for some time).

Kaiba's blood rose in response, unable to hide the sudden thrill that rushed through him at the thought of a duel with his rival, the adrenaline that coursed in his veins when Yami wore _that _look – 'beat me – if you can'. And then –

_Cold. _Realisation swept over him, drowning his rush and leaving his anticipation high and dry. "…Yugi has your deck." And _Yugi _was in New York.

"…Oh." Painful, disappointed silence.

"…Use some cards from my collection." Kaiba's 'kind' offer was born nearly entirely out of selfishness; it just so happened that he'd be pleasing Yami as well as himself by offering the ex-pharaoh a loan of some cards. (At least, that was what he told himself.)

Yami brightened at the suggestion, willingly waiting as Kaiba withdrew to fetch his briefcase full of cards. When the brunet brought them back Yami nigh-_dived _upon them, sifting through the mounds to create a deck. Kaiba moved off to give him a little privacy, reading a book whilst the other worked.

They dueled at a table together, using a mat, sitting opposite one another. Yami, still a little stilted in his speech, kept his comments rather brief, stating his moves and watching Kaiba's in almost perfect silence. The deck he'd chosen for himself was a composed mostly of monsters with the _Dark _attribute, a few _Light _and _Fire _sneaking in as Spellcasters and Warriors. A deck full of shadows and magic, heroes and legends. Yami's deck. _Yami._

Kaiba was about halfway through the duel (though he didn't know that at the time) when he finally realised he had an unfair advantage over his opponent – Yami probably couldn't read the Japanese on the cards, which meant…he was playing by memory alone? Kaiba had always known Mouto had had an in-depth knowledge of a large portion of the card index (he was a walking encyclopaedia, and just as irritating), but Yami…to play with barely _any _aid from the wording –

Despite himself, Kaiba was impressed.

And then he was annoyed, as within six turns Yami neatly sent all his Dragons to the Graveyard and wiped out the last of his opponent's life points. With a deck that wasn't even his. When he _couldn't even read the cards. _

Kaiba declared an end to the lessons for the day, and swept off to his study to work. (He sulked for the rest of the afternoon.)

* * *

To Yami, suddenly thrust into a new body of his own, Domino felt like a new city. Everything was completely different as he looked at it all through his own eyes, standing on the ground with his own feet, his own warm breath spilling from his lips to dance as dragon-mist in the air. His own cheeks, flushed with pink by the wind, his own hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers curled up to keep them from the cold.

The people passing him by on the streets…they looked at _him. _Not Yugi, not a tablet, but _him. _Because he was standing there, on the streets of Domino, dressed in his new clothes, with the red scarf Mokuba had given him for Christmas wrapped around his neck, exploring surroundings he technically already knew with a childlike wonder. Because they were _new, _like this, and wonderful.

He'd left Mokuba at the Kaiba mansion, when he left to go out and wander. Yami had been going a little stir-crazy inside the manor's four walls, needing to feel the fresh air on his face (his face – _his) _and Mokuba had encouraged him to wander around. It wasn't like he could've pestered Kaiba for another lesson anyway – the brunet had gone to work, the Christmas period over and done with -, needing to catch up on the work he'd missed out on over his enforced break before New Year rolled around. (Mokuba could be very persuasive when he felt like it - there were benefits to being young and cute.)

It began to snow and Yami tilted his head back to watch the flakes falling from the sky, stretching out a hand and letting a few spots of white melt into the still-warm skin of his palm. The tiny spots vanished fast, little droplets of cold that had him smiling to himself, stationary amidst the moving traffic of people.

It snowed harder, drifts coming down in rapid lines that blurred the sky and all the surroundings. Umbrellas went up and crowds vanished, sliding into cars and buildings to avoid the flurry coming from the grey sky.

Yami…stood there, not quite sure what to do. It was a long walk back to the Kaiba mansion, and he was already beginning to get rather wet from the snow coming down so fast. Cold seeped through his jacket, jumper and pants, chilling his skin as his hair, growing heavy from all the extra moisture dumped in it by the melting snow, finally succumbed to gravity and began to wilt downwards to his shoulders.

"Yugi?" It was a curious voice that cut through the Spirit's musings, Yami twisting about to see a familiar face peering out at him from underneath a black umbrella, soft brown eyes looking deeply confused. _Ryou. _"Aren't you supposed to be in New York with Anzu?"

Ryou…was often left out of the loop.

"Yugi-kun?"

Yami turned properly, so he was facing the other youth, letting the perceptive gaze sweep over his face, his vivid eyes.

"Oh…" a soft pause, a few breaths –

And then 'Ryou' smirked, expression sharpening, and Yami scowled.

"Pharaoh."

"Thief." A swift nod as he looked away, Yami not in the mood for Bakura's baiting. And the other's sharp tongue – Bakura could easily outwit him in a battle of words, at that present moment in time.

"Does your little host let you out to play now?"

"Yugi is in America." Yami glanced back at the other for that, just to see the news settle in. "I am staying with Kaiba and Mokuba."

Bakura approached him, closing the umbrella he held and stuffing it in the bag belonging to his lighter half that he was carrying. The snow blended in perfectly with his hair, white gleaming and mingling, sharp and cold. "Tell me Pharaoh…" his gaze swept over the other's face, his clothes (clearly expensive) and back up to the other's face, a deeper smirk tugging at his lips, "what did the courteous Kaiba charge for the privilege of having you at his established home?"

Yami's brow drew down at that – the thief had spoken quickly, lowly, a little too much for Yami to catch all of it, and yet he'd caught enough of it to realise the question was loaded. "…What?" His accent rang clear in his voice, spelling out his ineptitude to even _be _in the current conversation, much to Bakura's glee.

"I'm saying, _Pharaoh," _and here the tomb-robber came even closer and Yami's prideful stubbornness prevented him from backing off, the end result being Bakura being close enough for Yami to feel the warmth of the other's breath in the falling snow. "…Or to be more correct, I'm heavily, _heavily _implying," red locked with brown - and _damn _Bakura and his damnable smirk! - "that you look like the official Kaiba _pet-" _brown dropped, razing all the areas on Yami's person that he suddenly felt exceedingly self-conscious about, Bakura smug, and satisfied and – "or would '_whore' _be more appropriate?"

Yami slapped him, palm open, on the cheek. The _crack _of the impact sounded through the snow, resounding around and around the muffled world the weather created for the two of them, ancient spirits lost in the world of grey and white.

Bakura stumbled back a half-step, his own hands coming up automatically to nurse his smarting face. "Ra!" The acid comment flew out, poison-laced, as soon as Bakura's mind had gotten over its shock. "Can you _get _any more girly, Pharaoh? What's next – hair-pulling?"

Yami actually _snarled _at that, furious.

"And – _look! _Aren't you positively _darling _when you're angry?" Bakura's pride was sore from the slap, and the brief period of astonishment that had followed it. That the wretched pharaoh had managed to surprise _him-! _"I bet Kaiba-dearest keeps you riled up all the time so he's guaranteed a pretty tumble between the sheets when he's in the mood…or maybe up against the wall."

Yami's hands curled into fists at his side, his nails digging into his palms. _"_Shut. Your. _Mouth."_

"Or does he just prefer to bend you over his desk and fuck you that way?" Bakura laughed when the other actually ran at him, smoothly stepping to one side and catching hands aimed to slap, to claw and _hurt, _twisting them behind Yami's back and holding the Spirit. Bakura rocked against the other, taunting, smirking against the other's ear when the ex-pharaoh growled, incensed. "_My..." _and his voice was slinking, and low, and _disgustingly _superior, "don't you get around?"

Yami wiggled one arm free, and _elbowed _him_. _Directly in the gut, putting all the force behind it that he possibly could. He would've preferred to have instilled the Royal Boot somewhere a little further south, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

And then he took off, through the snow, leaving Bakura wheezing behind him. Yami dearly wished the thief would just fall over and asphyxiate under the snow, somehow miraculously sparing Ryou whilst he died a slow, _exceedingly painful _death.

* * *

"_Kaiba-sama,"_ the voice of Kaiba's secretary, Matsuoka Chiyo-san, sounded through the intercom on the man's desk, disturbing the brunet as he was halfway through reading a (rather dull) report sent up to him by his design department on their plans for the new edition of duel disk.

"What is it, Matsuoka?" Bored as he was, Kaiba managed to prevent any of his feelings leaking into his tone, impeccable as always.

"_I am sorry to disturb you, Kaiba-sama, but there's a disturbance in the foyer."_

Now _that _was irritating… "Matsuoka, why are you telling me this? There are _guards _in place down there to deal with disturbances – unless some idiot subordinate has fired them all without my knowledge?"

"_No, Kaiba-sama, it is just…"_

"_What, _Matsuoka?"

"_Normally we'd have paged you about this man, as he's on your list to do so," _that certainly narrowed down who it could be being a bother, "_but…well, he _looks _different, and the receptionists are causing some fuss, and the guards aren't sure whether to have him removed or not." _There was a brief pause. _"And he's gaining quite a lot of attention."_

"…Who is it?"

"_He _looks _like Yugi Mouto, but there are these differences -"_

Kaiba frowned. "Have Isono escort him up, Matsuoka."

"_Kaiba-sama…?"_

"I know him. Have Isono escort him up."

"_At once, Kaiba-sama." _The woman ended the conversation with a quiet 'click'.

Kaiba put away the report whilst he was waiting, rising from his chair to go and look out of the window that made up one side of his office. The lights of Domino City shone back at him through the snow, glimmering lights from all the buildings flickering through the flakes speeding past the glass.

What was Yami doing in the middle of the City in such weather…? The Kaiba mansion was on the very outskirts of Domino, and to have left the warmth of the manor to come to KaibaCorp…

Another 'click' from the intercom. _"Kaiba-sama, Isono and…your guest are here."_

"Send them in, Matsuoka."

"_Yes, Kaiba-sama."_

Barely a few minutes later the door to the office cracked open, two forms walking in – or rather, one form walking, and a drowned rat stealing in trailing water in its wake.

Kaiba raised an eyebrow at the bedraggled state of his rival, eyes sweeping across the lithe, rain-drenched form creating a most spectacular puddle on his carpet. The _shivering, _rain-drenched form, Yami clad in nought but sodden material.

"Isono," Kaiba spoke to his long-time guard, "please have it seen to that a large blanket is sent here as quickly as possible, and then take a short break. I should require you in about an hour and a half, approximately." Isono bowed, and left, and Kaiba looked over Yami once more. "…You're wet."

"Really?" So the drenched youth had enough vocabulary for sarcasm, _brilliant. _

"What are you doing here?"

Yami wrapped his arms around himself, droplets of water spraying around him at the motion. "I wanted a walk."

"In _this _weather?" Kaiba gestured to the snowstorm outside the window.

Yami looked a little sullen, glancing away. They stood in awkward silence like that, the standoff only broken when there was a knock on the door. Kaiba opened it, to find his secretary there, blanket in her hold.

He took it from her, accepting her polite nod. "Matsuoka-san, could you have a cup of coffee and a cup of sweetened tea sent up?"

"Yes, Kaiba-sama." She left, and Kaiba shut the door. He eyed his rival once more, blanket in hand. "…Strip."

"_What?_" Yami appeared to understand exactly what it was Kaiba had just told him to do, if his incredulous tone was anything to go by. Or perhaps it was just Bakura's words, slick and taunting, dancing mockingly through his mind, that caused the near-squeak.

"Strip," Kaiba repeated, shoving the blanket into the shorter male's hands, "before Matsuoka-san returns with the tea. Or would you rather divest yourself of all your clothing before a woman?"

Yami coloured, dark spots of pink spreading along his cheekbones. "I-"

"_You_," said Kaiba shortly, cutting the other off, "are going to get sick unless you lose the wet clothing immediately. I happen to dislike doctors and their unceasing prattle, so if you get ill, you're nursing yourself back to health, as I have neither the time nor the inclination to. So strip or get ill - it's your choice."

Yami got the gist of the CEO's little speech and, still pink, quickly came to his decision. "Turn away."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Turn away!" Flushed, Yami motioned for the other to avert his eyes and Kaiba did so, turning his back as the sounds of wet cloth hitting the floor echoed behind him. "…I'm done."

Kaiba turned back around, unsurprised to see the other wrapped very firmly in the blanket, seated on the couch near the door. His hair, still wet, hung around his face, his eyes burning as he _dared _Kaiba to pass a deprecating remark.

Kaiba to his credit, kept his mouth shut, scooping up the soggy clothes and going to the door just in time for his secretary to return with the drinks. Drinks and clothes were swapped, quick conversation and orders no doubt along with it, Yami ignoring everything (and feeling quite sorry for himself) until a steaming mug was placed in front of him.

"Since you dislike coffee, you may like this better." Kaiba had extended the sweetened tea. "There's probably enough sugar in there to give you cavities, but the heat of it will hopefully stop you getting ill."

"…Thank you." Yami took the tea from the brunet, feeling the warmth of the liquid bleed immediately from the mug to his cold hands.

"Don't thank me just because I refuse to catch cold off of an idiot." Kaiba returned to his desk, totally apathetic towards the exasperated eyes set on his back as he sipped his own coffee.

Yami spent close to an hour in the office. It was a mostly silent affair; there was little to no conversation, the only sound created by them sipping their drinks, and Kaiba typing on his computer. It was quiet, and it was peaceful, and Yami drained his mug, slowly warming up from his adventures in the snow. He was just began to drift off when there came another knock at the door, Yami snapping back to alertness when Kaiba called 'enter' and Matsuoka came in with a neatly-folded bundle of – were they his clothes?

Kaiba took them and sent his secretary away once more, before crossing over to Yami's seat. _"_Here," he extended the fresh clothes, pleased when his rival didn't question him for a change, taking the clothing immediately and turning his back on Kaiba so he could start pulling it on, The brunet caught a glimpse of a smooth, tanned back before he remembered he was supposed to be looking elsewhere, quickly finding a folder on his desk to occupy himself with as his companion changed. "…I'll call Isono to have you escorted home."

"Alright." Yami's voice was soft as he changed, the Spirit preoccupied with his belt, his half-dry hair, and his trousers. "I am done."

Kaiba quickly scanned the other before nodding once in agreement – he wasn't going to let the other out if he still looked like he'd been pulled up out of a sewer. He went to the intercom and asked Matsuoka to send Isono up, waiting patiently for his guard to arrive and take Yami back to the mansion.

"I will see you tonight?" Yami kept glancing at the door, waiting for Isono.

"When I get home, yes." Kaiba wished the other would stop looking away every few minutes – it was distracting. "I prefer not to sleep at my desk when I can help it, and Mokuba _can _nag so."

Yami smiled wanly at that. "Kaiba -"

Isono came in. Kaiba briefly outlined what he wanted the other to do. Isono and Yami left. Kaiba went back to work.

It was only half an hour later, and he was starting on a new cup of coffee, that Kaiba realised he'd called the mansion 'home' twice in reference to Yami's being there –

And Yami had agreed with him.


End file.
